


The Other Man

by yourebrilliant



Category: White Collar
Genre: Humour, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-25 18:17:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/641658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourebrilliant/pseuds/yourebrilliant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Honey, remember when I told you that I only slept with one man before you?’</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Other Man

‘Alright,’ Neal called, pattering down the staircase, ‘who’s ready to paint the living room?’

Setting a dust sheet over the dining table, El smiled fondly at his enthusiasm. ‘Nobody, yet,’ she said, ‘Peter’s not back with the paint.’

‘Need a hand with that?’ Neal asked, already reaching out for the other side.

‘Nicely done,’ El said, looking up at him for the first time since he’d gone upstairs to change.

He was wearing one of his painting t-shirts and a pair of Peter’s old denim cut-offs, his feet were bare except for leather thongs. His hair looked mussed by his t-shirt and, caught in the stream of sunlight from the patio, blond. Some memory tugged at her brain, slipping away when she tried to pin it down. She was about to shrug it off when she realised Neal was frowning at her chest. ‘Neal?’

‘El,’ he said, his voice slightly strangled, ‘how long have you had that t-shirt?’

‘This thing?’ El pulled the faded t-shirt out and peered down at it. ‘Must be, oh-’

‘About fifteen years?’ Neal asked, his expression wary.

El looked from the peeling resort logo on her t-shirt to the denim cut-offs on Neal’s legs and frowned. ‘Huh. Well, that...makes more sense than it doesn’t,’ she admitted.

~*~*~

‘Okay, I’m back, I got paint, I got brushes, I got...no people,’ Peter said, coming to an abrupt halt in the middle of the deserted living room. He set the paint down on one of the dust sheets covering the couch and called out, ‘Honey? Neal?’ Suddenly there was a thump from the bedroom followed by El’s wild giggling and Neal’s throaty chuckle. ‘Oh, for...Neal!’ Peter called, peeling off his jacket as he strode up the stairs. ‘Now is not the time for that!’ For some reason this comment only provoked increased laughter.

‘It’s alright, honey,’ El called, her voice muffled with laughter, ‘everyone’s fully dressed.’

Peter had reached the landing and stared at the sight in front of him. El and Neal, dressed in their painting clothes, were sprawled on the bed each holding one side of what looked like one of El’s old photo albums. ‘So,’ Peter said slowly, ‘what’s happening?’ El sat up, crossing her legs beneath her and beckoned him over. Neal rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow.

‘We’re just...reminiscing, about old times,’ he commented slyly. El slapped him lightly on his bare calf. He pouted at her and she leant over to kiss him.

‘Old times?’ Peter asked suspiciously, settling into the space El had vacated. ‘El, you two have old times?’

El pressed her lips together, her expression somewhere between “caught out” and “suppressing laughter”. She took a deep breath. ‘Honey, remember when I told you that I only slept with one man before you?’ She was pointedly ignoring Neal who was smothering his own laughter with her hip.

‘Yeah,’ Peter said, still wondering where this was going. ‘The guy you met on holiday.’

Neal stopped laughing abruptly. ‘Wait, you told him about that?’ he asked, looking oddly at El.

‘Peter and I have a full disclosure agreement,’ she reminded him.

Neal eyed Peter sceptically. ‘Yeah, Peter and I don’t have that agreement.’

‘Only to keep your ass out of jail,’ Peter reminded him. ‘Anything not related to a crime...’

‘Full disclosure,’ Neal finished. ‘I know, I’m working on it.’

‘Well, start with this,’ El suggested, stroking his hair gently.

‘Fine,’ Neal said, pulling himself upright till he was sitting opposite Peter. ‘Peter, the man El slept with before you...was me.’ Neal sat very still, watching Peter processing the information. El rested one hand on Neal’s knee reassuringly.

‘You slept with Neal?’ Peter repeated. El nodded calmly. ‘Before we were,’ he gestured between the three of them to indicate their current relationship. El nodded again. ‘Before,’ here he gestured between himself and El.

‘Honey, _yes_ ,’ El said, gently, but with a tinge of impatience.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Peter asked, his mind whirring.

‘I didn’t know!’ El cried. ‘Honey, this was fifteen years ago.’

‘Wait, _you_ ’re the holiday guy?’ Peter asked. Neal dropped his head onto El’s shoulder.

‘This guy caught me _three_ times,’ he commented, his incredulous tone muffled by El’s t-shirt.

‘Shh, not helping,’ El commented quietly. ‘Yes, Peter, Neal is “the holiday guy”. Although he wasn’t called Neal Caffrey, then,’ she added.

‘He wasn’t?’ Peter’s question was subdued, his gaze fixed on Neal. El nudged Neal and he looked up. The look in Peter’s eyes – confusion, _hurt_ – shocked him. ‘So, Neal Caffrey’s just...an alias?’

Suddenly Neal understood. ‘No, no, Peter,’ he said, reaching out and grasping Peter’s hand, matching his stare so Peter could see the truth in his words. ‘Neal Caffrey is my name. I wouldn’t lie to you about that.’ He cast a sheepish glance at El, who was smiling wickedly at him. ‘I _did_ give El a different name at the time.’

‘Oh,’ Peter said, smiling cautiously again. ‘But El,’ he said, looking back at her, El raised her eyebrows questioningly, ‘surely you recognised him, I mean, he can’t have changed _that_ much, surely.’

At this Neal outright laughed and El failed to smother a giggle. ‘Don’t you believe it,’ she said. ‘Look; see for yourself.’ She passed over the photo album she and Neal had been laughing over.

It was a small album, only big enough for one or two rolls of film, with only enough space for one photo per page. When Peter took the album, it was open at a picture of a skinny young man with messy blond hair and the start of a tan. He was wearing a wife-beater t-shirt, denim cut-offs and thongs on bare feet. El was right; Peter could barely recognise the polished Neal Caffrey in this slouching teen. He had to look closely to see him; in the spark of mischief in his blue eyes, the hint of a smirk around his smile, the way he had his hands thrust in the pockets of his trousers. Neal was in there, but barely.

‘And you had no idea?’ he asked Neal. When Neal shook his head, his expression full of wide-eyed innocence, Peter frowned. ‘Neal,’ he said, warningly.

‘Full disclosure, Peter,’ Neal said, both hands raised and open, ‘I had no idea. I wasn’t the only one who looked different then,’ he added. ‘Turn the page.’

Flipping to the next page of the photo album, Peter nearly laughed aloud. It was another picture of the young blond man, this time with his arm around a slender, laughing young woman with wild waist-length hair in a shocking shade of red. She was wearing white framed sunglasses, a hot pink t-shirt with a logo on it, and a tiny denim skirt. ‘El?’ Peter managed. El could only laugh.

‘Apparently,’ Neal drawled. ‘Of course, that’s not what she told _me_ her name was.’

Peter looked at El, feeling laughter bubble up inside him. ‘You gave him a fake name?’ he asked.

El nodded, still laughing.

‘You gave _Neal Caffrey_ a fake name?’

‘No,’ El corrected. ‘I gave _Nick Trent_ a fake name.’

‘Nick,’ Peter coughed to cover his laughter, ‘Nick Trent?’ he asked, looking at Neal.

‘You’re one to talk, Libby Valentine,’ Neal countered.

‘ _Libby Valentine_ ,’ Peter repeated, chuckling now. ‘Nick Trent and Libby Valentine. You sound like detectives from the nineteen thirties.’

Neal and El exchanged approving glances. Neal reached out and snagged one of his ever-present hats from the bed post. ‘Nick Trent,’ he said, deepening his voice and dropping the hat over one eye, ‘Private Eye.’ El smirked at him.

‘So, what?’ Peter asked, when their laughter had died down. ‘You just decided you didn’t want to be you, that year?’

El shifted position and Neal slowly set his hat back on the post. ‘I don’t know about El,’ Neal said quietly, ‘but for me, yes. That was about the size of it. It was...not a good year for Neal Caffrey. I wanted to be someone who didn’t have all of his problems, just for a month.’

El nodded vigorously. ‘Basically, same for me.’

Peter sighed. ‘So, what happened? How did you two get together?’

‘You don’t know?’ Neal asked, glancing at El.

She shrugged. ‘I told him there was a guy I met on holiday who was my first. He didn’t ask for any more details.’

‘That was before I found out he was sharing my bed,’ Peter commented facetiously. ‘Come on,’ he said, settling himself more comfortably, ‘how did you meet?’

El smiled fondly at him. ‘Don’t we have a living room to paint?’

‘We’ll get to it later,’ Peter said, waving a hand dismissively.

‘Well,’ El began, settling against Neal, ‘once upon a time there was a beautiful young girl named Libby Valentine who met a handsome young man named Nick Trent...’


End file.
